


Fashion

by TheOtherCourse (kanevixen)



Series: Tom and Abigail Series [52]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Banter, Conversations, Dress Up, F/M, Fluff, Public Relations, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:24:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7916749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanevixen/pseuds/TheOtherCourse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a 100 drabble challenge on tumblr, based on a single word, FASHION.</p><p>Immediately following Tattoo, Tom and Abigail finish getting ready for their walk down the red carpet at the 2014 Olivier Awards, their first true public appearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fashion

**Author's Note:**

> **Fashion**

I raced back through our flat from Tom’s study to our en-suite bathroom to do something with my hair and makeup before the car arrived in twenty minutes. Distraction Tom hit me full force and my heart was beating fast from his command of my body and the exhilarating race against the clock. My lover was chuckling arrogantly in the bedroom as he laced his dress shoes on his feet.

“I’m angry with you,” I growled, roughly combing the kinks and knots out of my hair, compensating for the lost minutes in my man’s arms with speed and velocity.

He teased from his seated position at the foot of our bed, “I’m used to that. Always works in my favor, baby.”

Ignoring him, I complained, “You always make me late, with your wicked charm and winning smile and sensual touching…”

“Keep that up,” the arrogantly chuffed man softly ordered. I could hear the irritating smirk in his voice.

I didn’t mind the physical affection and I would stay behind with him if it wasn’t such an important night for him. He was looking sharp in his Alexander McQueen suit and as much as I loved undressing him, he could work a suit like no other man alive. When I didn’t answer him, he switched tactics, “Worth it to taste you, baby.”

I peeked around the bathroom door to roll my eyes at him, “Charming Hiddleston… did you pick that one from a cereal box?”

“Frosties actually.” The Cheshire he shot me was brilliant, proud that he could play ball with me.

Despite taking the mickey, I grinned at the tenderness that I heard in his voice. I stuck my tongue out at him and returned to the mirror to apply the rest of my makeup while my hair recovered from the vicious attack. Conversationally, I asked, “When are you supposed to start Red Weed?”

The last I knew Tom was supposed to return from filming Crimson Peak in Toronto around mid-May and he was going to start filming The Scarlet Pimpernel. However during one of our phone conversations while he’d been in Toronto the past few weeks, he’d mentioned a possible delay. I never found out the nature of the delay.

There was a pause from Tom’s side of the door, and then a loud eruption of laughter from him. I giggled and snuck another peek at him, to see his head thrown back, a knee suspended in the air and his hands holding his chest and belly. I loved making my man laugh, and he needed it on this day, the last chapter of his Coriolanus run. His guffaws of his silly laugh faded and his mirthful eyes met mine, “Red weed? Is that what you’re going with?”

I chuckled, “I think you should pitch it as the project title.”

“You are a precious creature, Abigail, but that might be a bit spot on.”

“I suppose you could go with Superhero Zero or Shovelin madness.”

“Shovelin madness?”

“Percy and his merry white hat pimpernel men run circles around Chauvelin and his name is always mispronounced.”

Tom spared me another heartily laugh and got to his feet. He summoned me to him with a crook of his finger and I went to him. Reaching up, he pet my hair in his way and laid a kiss on my lips. His bow tie hung around his neck untied, so I began to lace it for him, as I always did. Whenever we dressed together for an event, I would tie his tie, or hook in his tie pin on him, or lace his bowtie. Grinning, he said, “Abby, you’re the Marguerite of my life, and you really are the cutest creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Stalling, I met his eyes over my hands and we shared one of our silent moments of adoration, our life together flashing between us, the trust, the love. I said flirtatiously, “Stop distracting me, charmer, or I’ll feel guilty when I runaway with Matthew Macfadyen.”

“Another Abby World boyfriend?”

“He was quite good in Jeeves and Wooster…”

“He’s married, love.”

“I know but we had a moment during curtain call.” I finished lacing his bowtie and straightened it with a steady hand.

“Emma said you were in the circle when you saw the show. He couldn’t possibly see you with the stage lights.”

“He’s mad for me… has been since I was a precocious child in Great Yarmouth. He’s from there, you know?”

Possessively pulling me to him, he intoned, “You’re a precocious adult, my Abby.” He stared down into my eyes, deciding the best way to handle this new Abby World addition. “No Abby World boyfriends tonight, tis my night. You’re all mine.” He claimed my mouth in a hungry, scorching kiss that burned the memory of all other men from my mind. He hands sunk to my bum and squeezed me to him, a squeal sounding from the back of my throat.

When eventually separated for breath, I scolded, “That’s as rough as you get with this dress, Hiddleston.”

With a smut, satisfied wink, he almost saluted, “Fierce little Abby.”

I turned on my heel and returned to the bathroom to shove my hair into a fancy barrette and douse it down with enough hair spray to choke a small animal. “Can you get my pumps from the closet, babe? Please?”

I heard Tom shrug into his jacket and disappeared into the closet to find my four inch black heels. He brought them into the bathroom for me, along with the clutch I’d chosen for the evening. Pouting, I said, “I don’t think I want to take my bag. Can you put my lipstick in your pocket?”

“Only if I can wear it.” He placed my shoes on the floor beside my feet, so I could step into them.

“I can apply it for you now, if you fancy a go of it.”

I stepped into my heels one at a time, leaning on Tom to support me in balancing. I slipped the tube into his jacket pocket after I painted it on my lips in the mirror, and smiled up at him, indicating that I was ready. “You look very pretty, my Abby.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m only dressing to match my dapper looking man.”

I hooked my arm through his proffered one and we walked through our bedroom and out into the hallway, just in time for the front door buzzer to sound. Our car had arrived as promised.

“You did mean me this time…”

I nodded with a smile.

“Are you ready for tonight, sweet girl?”

I nodded enthusiastically. This would be our first event together for all to see, press, peers, fans. We’d been to a few events through the years, but we didn’t arrive together or leave together, careful not to be photographed together, only privately.

*

“So the delay on ‘They seek him here, they seek him there’?” I asked once we climbed into the back seat of the black Audi.

He said pensively, “The producers want to wait for Hayley to play Marguerite, and she’s not available until possibly next year.”

“Would you consider doing another play on the West End?”

“Naturally. I’ll have to see what’s available if Red Weed is pushed off,” he winked.

I nodded, making a mental note to speak with the director that I was working with. There was some creative differences with the lead actor and it was looking more and more like he would soon be parting the production. If that was the case, the play would be postponed, and Tom would be back in time to start rehearsals. I was itching to work with him creatively, and the role suited him well.

Wistfully, I said, “I’d like to work with you again.”

He kissed my temple reverently. Speaking into my hair, he said, “We will, baby. We’ll look out for a project to work on together.”

The car pulled up to the kerb at the 2014 Olivier Awards, and I could see Luke waiting for our arrival. I shelved the fantasy of Tom and me working together for another time, and willed the butterflies in my stomach to abate. I had another hurtle to overcome. My boyfriend felt my anxiety at being on display in front of so many people, and outing ourselves as a couple. He wrapped his hand in mine and motioned to the driver to give us a minute before opening the door.

“You alright, love? We don’t have to do this now. I can leave you with Luke and we can meet inside.”

“I want to, just a bit nervous.”

“You look beautiful tonight. They’ll be focused on the fashion you’re wearing, instead of on us. If tomorrow you change your mind about being public, Luke is ready with a story to explain your presence. He gave you an out if you need it.”

“No, no…  I’m okay. I want to be your Abigail.”

“And you are. Ready, love?”

I nodded, and Tom knocked on the window for the driver to let us out. We stepped out of the car into the din of excitement and into our future.


End file.
